


Illegal Honor

by DragonousSenses



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Death Only Happens at the End, Fencing, The Only Violence is The Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 20:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18373262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonousSenses/pseuds/DragonousSenses
Summary: In the early 1800s many a curious and strange things are spoken about. Not that Clinton pays it any mind. His time is spent teaching the youth of London. His views are about to be challenged however...





	1. Chapter 1

The air echoed with the sound of metal colliding with metal. “You shall have to do better than that, you coward!” His opponent yelled. Clinton gripped his foil and took a defensive stance. His opponent rushed him and Clinton quietly dodged and attacked once again. This time the effort paid off. The tip of his foil touched the center of his opponent’s chest.

Clinton ran his fingers through his sweaty brown hair. “I believe that is a win, my good man.” He gasped. The other man growled and threw down his foil in frustration. He stormed out cursing Clinton. Clinton shook his head and carefully stored the instrument. He thought, Drunken fool. He should know better than to try to duel someone in public. I hope he learns that pestering someone and following them to their place of employment while under the influence is wrong!

He exited the dingy practice room of the fencing school with his old coat and hat in hand. The cobbled streets were filled with the sound of carriages and people going about their business. The air had the usual mixed smell of soot and muck. It was a dreary day in London, and he could feel from the air that rain would come shortly. He adjusted his top hat and black coat and walked down the street to his lodgings.

He turned when he heard someone yell from the alley. One of the street ruffians was motioning with a filthy hand to follow him. Clinton turned to walk past but he felt the man’s firm grip on his arm.

“Please, sir, I need your help. I will not take much of your time.” Clinton sighed and decided to see what he was up to, as he had still had his practice foil in case the urchin attempted something. He squeezed down the tight passage and found himself in an overgrown area. The beggar smiled a toothy grin and said, “You look like someone I can trust, sir. You are just the man for the job.”

Clinton coughed and said, “What are you talking about? What reason have you for bringing me to this rather dank setting?”

The beggar bowed pleadingly at his remark.

“Come now, sir! I have no intention of pulling the wool over your eyes! Seamus Kelton at your pleasure.”

Clinton glanced at the passage he had come from and gripped his foil. The beggar had taken no notice of this and continued to say, “I shall tell you all. I have what you might call a unique little problem. I am cursed by an unsavory demon who plagues my thoughts.” He stopped suddenly and gripped his head with his grimy fingers. He then proceeded to shout, “Leave me be you demon! Stop haunting me! Begone!” He shivered and whimpered for a few minutes.

Clinton slowly backed away. The beggar dropped to his knees in front of Clinton pleading wildly. “Please, sir! You must remove this fiend from me! I shall not tolerate him any longer! He shall take me to the grave!” He sobbed.

Clinton had no clue of what he should do.

Should he help the man or run like a coward?

Before Clinton could react the beggar let out a scream that shook the air. He watched in horror as a white mist shot out of the beggar and the man collapsed, his face holding an image of pure terror that chilled the soul. The mist rushed at Clinton, but he nimbly dodged the attack. Whatever this monstrosity was, he knew he had to contain it somehow. How many other lives has this demon taken? He thought.

He ducked as it attempted to hit him once more. This fiend is persistent! He thought. He drew his foil as it drew closer once more. He struck with lightning precision into what he hoped was the center of the mist. It seemed to have no effect on it at all. The battle waged for what felt like years in this pattern. He dodged as it made another rush towards him and turned to strike. 

The alley was filled with emptiness. It must have given up and gone to bother another unfortunate soul. Clinton shivered from the cold hanging in the air and stood over the beggar. He closed the poor man’s lifeless grey eyes and covered him with the man’s cloak. He squeezed through the gap in the alley and reemerged into the busy streets. He failed to notice the white light quietly fade away from behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Clinton couldn’t help turning every so often to see if the fiend was following him. He closed the door to his lodgings quietly behind him and leaned against it with a sigh of relief. The apartment he occupied was silent as usual. There were the stairs leading upwards to his quarters and the passage of flower wallpaper lead to more tenants. He ascended the steps and swiftly went inside the door of his home.

He was greeted by the usual scene of chaos. Papers were littered everywhere throughout the small three room apartment, chairs were filled with thick textbooks on various fencing methods, quills and ink wells were randomly strewn about, and a glance into the kitchen showed plates stacked to the heavens. The landlady would not be pleased. He walked over to the shelf near the door and straightened his teaching certifications. Being the top authority on fencing was one matter, trying to teach it to avid young boys was another. He never seemed to have the time for anything else. He cleaned the chaos into a more manageable form near his desk, quickly moving the papers onto the ground near the door and sat down with a sigh.

He had forms to look over and assignments to grade. It was going to be a rough evening. He started to get up to put away his hat and materials when a sudden pain rushed through his senses. He held his head and let out a cry of agony mixed with surprise as the room churned. He closed his eyes and waited for it to subdue. He sat there for what felt like an eternity before it vanished. He slowly opened his blue eyes and sat back, gasping in relief.

What the devil just happened?! Dear me, I must have overdone it today. He thought. He slowly rose from the chair and walked to the kitchen for some brandy. He poured the restorative into a glass and took a sip.

_Ahh, refreshing!_ A voice echoed. The glass fell from his grip, shattering into thousands of fragments.  He whirled around to find no one present in the room.

He shook his head and thought, Am I losing my senses? He gasped as a laugh seemed to fill the air. “Show yourself, whoever you are! I do not take kindly to tricks!” He said.

 The voice replied, _There is no need to get so defensive! I am merely getting used to these surroundings._

Clinton drew his foil and took a defensive stance to deal with this unknown invader.

 “Who are you and why are you in my home?”

The voice sighed and said, _Why do they all ask the same questions? Alright, first my name is Nick, but most call me Old Nick for my age. Second, I am in your home because you are._ Clinton glanced around in confusion.

“What on earth do you mean? How is my presence related to you?” He asked.

 Nick chuckled again, most likely a habit, and asked, _You do not recall meeting me? After all those swift movements you used to avoid me? Come now!_ Clinton’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening.

“You are that white mist that was plaguing the beggar! Why have you decided to torment me? What do you want?” He said.

Nick replied with some annoyance, _Not again! Why do I keep getting ones that think I am a demon? You people are so paranoid!_

Clinton frowned and asked, “If you are not a demon then what are you? Why are you here?”

Nick coughed and replied, _This might take some time. You may need to sit down._

Clinton slowly sheathed his foil and reluctantly sat at his desk where Nick began his tale. _I am what some may call a ‘consultant’. I appear to those who need some advice in their lives. For example, that beggar, as you call him, was dealing with some dire events. I was there to aid him, but how was I to know he would reject me? The fool thought me some foul demon and drove himself into the state you found him in._ Nick said.

Clinton was silent for a few moments as he tried to understand what had been said. Then he said slowly with suspicion, “Am I to believe you are some sort of angelic being? If you mean to aid me, you are mistaken in that I need it. I have no dire events or thoughts for you to assist with. I am perfectly fine, so if you please, leave me and find another.”

_I am no angel, my man! I was once as alive as you. I am merely here to assist. As for your current circumstances, I digress that you appear to have no problems that require my attention. However, I chose you for a reason. I sense something is about to befall you that I shall be needed for._ Nick echoed.

Clinton gripped the arm of the chair and asked, “What exactly are you sensing? I have nothing in my life that could cause danger to befall me! Leave me and find someone else!” Nick was about to say something, but the front door flying open and hitting the wall with a loud bang interrupted him. It was his opponent from earlier.

 He stood in the door, the very image of anger and said in a thick Irish accent, “I found you, bloody cheater.  All it took was a little help from some locals. That little duel will not hold, as I was drunk. Now that I have regained my senses, let us fight more honorably.” His thick frame loomed in the doorway and grime seemed to seep from his filthy shirt, suspenders, and cheap loafers.

Nick chuckled and said, _Still think you do not need my advice?_

 Clinton took a deep breath and said, “As I recall, it was you who challenged me even when I refused to fight on the very principle that it would not be honorable and not to mention illegal, sir.  You forced my hand however as you refused to stop pestering and following me, and thus we fought. Now you threaten my honor on your drunken ground of claims. I shall accept your challenge on the condition that if I win, you shall denounce your honor as a gentleman. If however, I should lose, I shall do the same. Do we have an agreement?”

The man smiled wickedly and chuckled darkly.

 “I accept. Be at the same spot as before at midday tomorrow. I shall relish your defeat.” With another menacing chuckle, the door slammed shut and the room returned to silence.

Clinton sank into his chair with a sigh and ran his hands through his hair. What in God’s name have I gotten myself into? He thought.

  _He was quite unpleased with you. Did you insult his mother or something?_

Clinton said, “Silence! My honor and status are at stake, I do not have time to deal with the likes of you!” I must get rid of him! He thought. He rushed into the kitchen and thrust his head under some cold water from the faucet.

_I do not think that will work, my man. You will only make yourself ill._

“Be quiet!” He yelled. He then started hitting his head against the wall. Get. Out. Of. Me! He thought.

_Please stop trying to beat out your brains! You are being very unreasonable!_

Clinton ignored him and refused to stop until he felt he couldn’t go on. He stumbled into the sitting room and clumsily lit a fire in the fireplace. He sat staring at it in silence. He was for the first time in his entire life, unsure of what to make of the situation and of the spectral presence in his head.

Nick must have sensed what he was feeling. He said, _No need to be so grim, my man!  We shall easily conquer the fool! If you desire proof, you need only look at your shelves. And need I remind you I am merely here to assist. There is no need to injure yourself on my account. If you wish, I shall leave after we deal with this little problem._

He realized that Nick was right. Clinton sighed and said, “Very well, you may stay for now. You are right though. I must not lose.” He raised himself carefully from the chair and went into the kitchen to clean himself up. He had a rough night of practice ahead.

Nick chortled and said, _That is the spirit! Let us begin!_ Clinton drew himself into the stance and began striking the air in flashes of metal. He kept the pace going for what felt like years then dropped back into his chair in exhaustion. Sweat poured from him as he took long breaths. He jumped as a stack of papers near him flapped together rapidly. A loud chuckle echoed through his head.

_Bravo, bravo, my man! That drunken heathen has no chance of defeating you! A very brilliant display!_

Clinton let out an irritated sigh and replied, “Please inform me before you do those kinds of things. How on earth are you doing it anyway? You are possessing me.”

Nick said, _Terribly sorry! I did not realize you were startled so easily. As to your inquiry, I am indeed within you; however that does not hinder my abilities. Practice improves with time as they say._

Clinton said, “I see. I believe I should rest for the coming battle. A duel should never be entered without being at one’s full capacity.”

_Very well, pleasant dreams!_

He sighed, rose, and quietly walked to his bed chambers. He entered and closed the door behind him softly. The room was very bare. A disorganized bed and table were present along with a wardrobe facing opposite the bed. He changed into his night attire and climbed into bed. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. It was a restless night, as the events of the coming day filled his dreams. Images of ancient spirits and drunken swordsman swam through his head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The duel is going to be different than how fencing is viewed today. It was much more lethal and dangerous at those times. The violence mentioned only happens at the end and I'm putting this warning here so people are prepared for it.

He awoke at the sound of the wardrobe doors slamming shut. He bolted upright with a gasp and glanced around. He let out a sigh as a familiar chuckle echoed through his head.

_Rise and shine, Clinty! We have a duel to attend!_

Clinton rose from the bed and said with a yawn, “First, it is Clinton. Second, while you are a guest in my home, there will be some degree of manners followed. Am I understood?”

 Nick replied, _Oh, very well! My deepest apologies for waking you in such a manner. No need for that tone, my man. I was only trying to help._

Clinton shook his head groggily and walked over to the wardrobe to begin getting ready. After a few minutes, he exited his sleeping quarters and straightened his shirt and top hat. He gathered his fencing equipment and, with a sigh, left his home and entered the dusty street. It was a misty wet morning with few people walking along the street.

_Where are we headed, my man? We have a small amount of time before the duel._

Clinton bowed his head as he walked down the street. He whispered, “I do not think it wise to speak with me in public. I must look a loony. We shall resume this at my office.”

He continued down the street with no further commentary from Nick. He stopped in front of a tall elegant building. It was clean compared to the other buildings in the vicinity and the polished windows reflected the morning light. Clinton opened the door which read, “London Fencing Academy” and walked inside. The empty tiled halls echoed with his footsteps as he traveled to his office. He slipped in through the door reading “Clinton Argosy” and closed it softly behind him. The room was very similar to that of his home with a desk in the center. He straightened the chair and collapsed into it.

Nick let out a low whistle that echoed in his head.

_My word, I think you need to hire a maid. The current method of organization is not very suitable._

Clinton hung his hat and cloak and said, “I hardly think the state of my office is of significance at the moment. I have a class to instruct and a fool to deal with.”

Nick chuckled and said, _Why can you never take a joke, my man? Must you always be so tense?_ Clinton was about to answer his query when the door to his office opened.

One of his students peeked his head through the open door with a thrilled look in his eyes and said, “Mr. Argosy, someone is calling for you in the practice hall. He seems distressed.” Clinton sighed rubbing his eyes.

“Very well, James. I shall be along shortly.”

James nodded and closed the door behind him. Clinton began pacing frantically. It cannot not be! Has he decided to fight me now at this time of the day?! He thought.

  _No need to distress yourself, my man! That rouge will soon realize what a terrible decision he has made._

Clinton ran his fingers through his hair and said, “The board of directors will let me go if they find out a duel is happening. I must convince him to wait until the hour has come.”

Clinton walked down the hall, his frantic footsteps echoing loudly. He entered the practice hall to see a dire situation unfolding. The large room was filled with the chatter of curious students seated on the mats along the sides of the room. In the center stood the angry form of the drunken man. His clothes were in disarray and his eyes wild. He drew a foil at the sight of Clinton and smirked tauntingly.

 “As this is an appropriate place to hold our duel, I must insist we begin. What better way to challenge a teacher’s honor than in front of his beloved students and superiors?” 

Clinton gripped his foil and replied, “You, sir, talk of honor. You clearly have none, as a true gentleman would not break his word. I have no quarrel with you. Let us talk of this elsewhere. Please leave the premises.” The room grew silent with this statement. The directors nodded in silent approval at his handling of the matter.

Clinton turned to return to his office when Nick shouted, _Behind you my man!_ Clinton dodged to the side as his opponent’s foil flashed by him and hit the ground with a clang. His students murmured in surprise.

“Fight me, you coward.”

Clinton sighed with reluctance as he realized that it would be impossible to persuade his opponent to leave. He turned to face him and the fool gestured with his hand to attack. Clinton drew his foil and glanced silently back. _Whatever happens, I shall not let the rogue harm my students._ His opponent rushed at him with a scream and Clinton dodged once more. The man fumbled to regain his footing and Clinton said, “This is what happens when you attack someone in such a manner. You only disgrace yourself.” He growled and rushed at Clinton again. Clinton dodged and the pattern continued for a few tense minutes. The man stopped huffing angrily and roared, “Stop being a dancer and fight me!” Clinton sighed as the man once again sailed past him fumbling.

“You shall get nowhere if you continue this. Such a tactic will never allow you to best me.” Clinton stated. Then he turned to see something terrible. His opponent had grabbed one of the students while his back was turned and held the foil menacingly against the young man’s neck. The tip had been broken and the glistening edges flashed.

“I believe this will. Denounce your honor or the lad gets it.”

The boy trembled and glanced fearfully at Clinton. Clinton glared at him and said, “There is no need to harm my student. He has done nothing! This is a matter between both of us. If you release him, I will do as you ask. Please!”  His opponent simply laughed at his words and grinned evilly.

 “Your loss.”

 He then raised the foil and motioned to strike. His muscles tensed and the foil glinted in the light. It slowly inched closer and closer towards the terrified student. The room echoed with screams of terror and Clinton shouted at him to stop.

Then, it happened.

The foil turned in his opponent’s hand and hit him instead. It was so swift that only Clinton had seen what had happened. Blood poured from the injury on his neck and the man collapsed with a cry of surprise on the ground. The student rushed away and hid behind Clinton. The directors moved swiftly to clear the students out of the room. Only Clinton and the student stood gazing in silent horror at the scene.

Clinton turned to the boy and said mechanically, “Go join the others. It is unsafe here.”

The student nodded slowly and ran from the room.

Clinton stood in silence for a few moments, staring at the terrible turn of events.

He heard a soft whimpering and said softly, “You had no choice. There was no other course of action. Let us leave this place.”

Then, he exited the area with the sound of metal still ringing in his head.

 

 


End file.
